My skin crawls as cold darkness embraces me.
The light that once shined bright is meager now.
The world, once vibrant and lovely, is dim and lonely.
Green has given way to brown, soft became rigid.
Breath subsided to a deep form of stillness.
The year has changed, the cycle has ended.
The only one who looked forward to it.
Hear glorious sounds below….
Nothing is set in stone, except of course your epitaph. In a recent essay for Aeon, Tom Pitock mused on the difficulty of writing his own father’s epitaph, and why we etch words on tombstones to remember people we loved. But not every culture uses epitaphs, as Pitock learned in Greenland: It took real effort to find the cemetery […]